


remedy

by oopsabird



Category: DC Extended Universe, Wonder Woman (2017), Wonder Woman - All Media Types
Genre: Accidental Cuddling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mutual Pining, Mutually oblivious, Nightmares, Paris (City), Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-War, Post-Wonder Woman (2017), Pre-Slash, Repressed Idiots, Sharing a Bed, Tenderness, sober Charlie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-12
Updated: 2019-11-12
Packaged: 2021-01-29 21:29:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21416962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oopsabird/pseuds/oopsabird
Summary: Sameer has spent a long time pretending he doesn't hear Charlie's nightmares, both to shelter his friend's pride and hide his own feelings.Then the war ends, and Charlie gets sober, and damn near everything changes.
Relationships: Charlie & Sameer (Wonder Woman), Charlie/Sameer (Wonder Woman)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 13





	remedy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Elri](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elri/gifts), [danielfaradays](https://archiveofourown.org/users/danielfaradays/gifts).

> Backstory for where this fic came from in the end notes. Please enjoy!
> 
> Story context: since this was originally written as part of a larger whole, it makes some small context allusions which might be mildly confusing. You mostly just need to know that the idea here is that after the war, Sami plans to go to Paris to try and find work as an actor, while Charlie is preparing to return to Scotland and either try to rejoin the military or hide himself away in a cottage somewhere if that fails - they hate to part but are being stupid about it, and after some arguing Sami has managed to convince Charlie to take a vacation to Paris and help him settle in and see the sights before they part. This is their first night in the city.
> 
> Heed warnings re: mentions of alcoholism, non-graphic stuff on the trenches and Charlie's sniper work, and PTSD. All of the italics in the first section are a canon transcription of what Charlie shouts during his nightmare in the movie.
> 
> Please imagine Charlie with [a less shitty haircut.](https://m.imdb.com/name/nm0001971/mediaviewer/rm4200833024) [Literally any better haircut.](https://oopsabird.tumblr.com/post/189032226290/i-want-you-all-to-know-im-still-incredibly) Thank you. #NoWig (lmao)

* * *

Here’s the thing about being a sniper — everything happens at a distance.

You shoot from a distance, never seeing the men you kill face-to-face. It is almost safer, sometimes, since they can’t see you either. You can be ensconced in relative security, farther from the chaos of the fight. Either you’re sent out alone on stealth missions, or you’re ordered to stay back and guard your assigned platoon’s rear flank, from a sniper nest tucked away in the near distance. Watching over them, a hidden protector.

_don’t go..._

You can see things coming well before the men on the ground even realize they are in danger. Sometimes that means you can stop the threat before they ever know what might’ve been, shooting it down from afar like some sort of guardian angel.

._..don’t go in..._

But it is not always that simple.

_don’t go!_

You can’t shoot mustard gas. You can’t see a land mine through a scope until it is already exploding. And sometimes, on the other end of the battlefield across the trench, there is another man just like you — a hidden sniper picking off your people from afar, with you helpless to stop him.

_don’t!_

There are some things even the sharpest shot in a whole army simply cannot stop.

_boys, no!_

Unlike many soldiers of the Great War, Charlie isn’t most haunted by the ghosts of men who bled out in his arms or fell lifeless at his feet.

_ don’t go in there! _

Instead, in most dreams he watches over and over again as platoons of hundreds fall to mustard gas, land mines, enemy snipers and ambushes he should have seen. Screaming, bleeding, choking, dying. On and on and on without end, a war’s worth of deaths replayed in full colour and slow motion.

_no!_

And all the while, Charlie and his perfect aim stay perched safely in a tree or a hillside, too far away to even give warning — doomed only to watch and to scream, rendered useless by distance and time.

* * *

Sameer opened his eyes to a moonlit silent room. For a few seconds, he didn’t know where he was — only that something must have broken through the haze of deep sleep and woken him.

As he groggily rubbed his face and tried to get his bearings, the noise came again: an aborted shout from across the room, accompanied by shoddy bed-springs creaking.

The pieces of the puzzle snapped together rapidfire in his head:

Paris.

Traveling.

Hotel room.

_Charlie._

On missions during the war, Sami had long been uncertain how to react when Charlie’s ghosts accosted him at night.

In the heat of battle was one thing — during those episodes, the main goal was simply to get Charlie out of the line of fire as quickly as possible, reassured and separated from the threats that had triggered him so he could begin to calm down on his own. To ward off physical danger and make him feel safe again.

That became harder, when the only threat was a figment of his imagination and memory. The Charlie who woke from nightmares was like a cornered animal, lashing out with words and often fists at anything within reach as soon as he was yanked into consciousness. Viciously angry, burningly ashamed, and most of all blindly terrified.

One night back when the episodes had first started, Sami had tried shaking him awake, shouting anxiously for him to snap out of it — had been rewarded with a sharp punch square in the nose for the effort. Charlie had apologized profusely later, self-deprecating and plaintively, painfully guilty; Sami had forgiven him instantly and didn’t take it at all personally, but that had been the end of his attempts to intervene at nighttime. It was better to let Charlie storm off once he woke himself with his shouting, and cool down somewhere else on his own. For both their sakes, surely.

Of course, Sami had thought of other ways to react besides shaking Charlie awake roughly or ignoring him while he stumbled off to drink — other things Sami’s heart wanted desperately to do when he heard the harsh broken noises Charlie made in his sleep. But those weren’t things you did with a fellow soldier. There was no room in the field for that sort of gentleness and intimate sentimentality. In the field, you shut out the sounds, you closed your eyes, and you tried to get back to sleep so you could fight your best tomorrow.

But they weren’t in the field anymore. They were in a tiny hotel room in Paris, with only three weeks left until they parted ways. And the war was finally over.

Sami rolled over and sat up.

In two short steps he crossed the creaky floorboards to crouch beside Charlie’s bed. Slowly, hesitantly, he reached out to lay a hand on one trembling shoulder, making contact softly so as not to startle him.

“Charlie,” Sameer whispered, insistent but not harsh. “Charlie, it’s just me, it is Sami. It’s okay, you are just having a dream  _mon ami._ ” Instead of shaking Charlie’s shoulder, he started to gently rub his hand up and down along the upper arm in what he hoped was a soothing manner, trying to ease Charlie out of it. The distressed muttering and twitching continued unabated, twisting Sami’s heart in his chest. “It’s not real, Charlie... you can wake up. I am here, you can wake up... it is okay, it is o-“

“AAH-” Charlie cut him off, jerking awake with a mangled half-shout. Shaking off Sami’s hand he bolted upright gasping, limbs flailing for purchase on the sheets with eyes wide and wild as they darted about the room.

He wasn’t angry yet, Sami realized in a flash. He just looked... disoriented, like he didn’t know where or when he was. Lost, hurt and afraid. Sami’s soul ached at the sight — without really thinking about it, he darted out a hand to gently capture one of Charlie’s where it scrabbled against the bedspread.

Charlie froze instantly — save for those shallow gasping breaths, and the way his cagey gaze snapped first to Sami’s hand, then up to his face. As Sami’s vision further adjusted to the dark he could see that Charlie’s eyes were impossibly wide, yet still not angry. Confused, frightened and anxious, certainly. But not angry.

Slowly, without breaking eye contact, Sami raised himself up to sit on the edge of the bed, their clasped hands held cautiously between him and Charlie the entire time like a peace treaty.

Sitting there eye-to-eye, he waited for Charlie to turn furious at this intrusion, to rip his hand away and spit acidic words about “making a fuss”. And yet it didn’t come — Charlie just gaped at him, frozen. Sameer decided to proceed with caution.

Charlie’s thrashing limbs had long since stilled, but his chest was still heaving with the erratic, shallow breaths of a panic attack — with no sign that he would level out on his own any time soon. And god, his eyes were still so hurt and scared...

A crazy plan sparked into existence in Sami’s mind. Slowly, without breaking that steady eye contact, Sami took the hand of Charlie’s that he held between them and pulled it closer, until it rested against his own chest, fingers and palm splayed flat against his undershirt and held gently in place by one of Sami’s own hands. He moved deliberately, carefully, giving every chance for Charlie to pull away, but no such chance was taken — still hyperventilating, Charlie only stared at him, quick-darting eyes taking in the movements while his trembling hand remained where Sami held it.

Reaching out with his other hand, Sami picked up Charlie’s free hand from where it lay tangled in the sheets. Lifting it just as slowly, he raised it and pressed it flat against Charlie’s own sternum, a mirror image of his other hand on Sami’s chest.

Sami drew a deep, slow breath in through his nose. Waited two seconds, then let it out through his mouth. This was a theatre trick for calming pre-show nerves and stage fright, learned from a mentor many many years ago.

“You feel that, Charlie?” he said gently, holding Charlie’s gaze with purposeful intent, returning the shaky nod that was received in answer. Another slow breath in, then out. “Feel me breathe,  _matraba._.. feel yourself breathe, and match your breathing with mine, okay? Breathe with me...” He rubbed his thumb slowly across the knuckles of the hand on his chest, matching the rhythm he wanted Charlie to keep. “Deep breath  _in_ ... and  _out._ _ In _ ... and  _out_ . Just like that, yes.  _In_ ... and  _out_ .”

Sami let his voice trail off as Charlie got the idea and strugglingly followed along, but he kept taking slow, exaggerated breaths to set the example, kept rubbing his thumb back and forth to keep their pace. Slowly, Charlie’s tremulously controlled breathing began to sound more natural, and his stiff posture gradually eased, hunched shoulders drooping as his eyes fell blessedly shut and he finally began to relax.

“That is it, that’s it...” Sami smiled tightly, pausing his strokes to squeeze Charlie’s hand in reassurance. “Well done, well done  _amico_. It’s alright... everything is okay...”

Unexpectedly, Charlie leaned forward on the bed, suddenly closing the distance between them to bury his face in the crook of Sami’s shoulder.

For a moment, Sami froze, unsure how he was expected to proceed with this startling new development. Then Charlie’s shoulders started to jerk and shake, fingers curling into a fist around a handful of Sami’s shirt with a small choked sound — he was crying.

For Sameer, instinct took over — still holding tight to Charlie’s hand on his chest, he wrapped the other arm around Charlie’s back and began to rub up and down over his spine, holding the shaking body close against him.

“_Shhh_... it is alright, Charlie. You’re alright. You are alright...” Sami whispered, his own throat growing tight as he spoke. “I- I’ve got you, it is okay. I am right here...”

Sami didn’t know how long they stayed like that, him soothing, Charlie sobbing. Charlie cried in a raw and open way, guttural sounds and heaving shoulders and a flood of tears, a display of vulnerable emotion such as Sami had never seen from him before. It was as if a dam had let go, and every bit of pain that Charlie had ever swallowed back with a stiff upper lip or drowned in a bottle was now come rushing out at once, leaving him bare and exposed in his anguish.

It made Sami’s heart ache, in sympathy and in self-recognition — he knew, deep inside, that beneath his own masks and smiling performances he carried a pain just like this in his own heart. Nobody ever saw him cry, either.

And in his case, he was certain they never would. He did not consider soothing Charlie’s hurts to be an undue burden, but knew also that he himself was often too giving of care for his own good, more so than most people tended to be. He would not burden those close to him with his private troubles, would not ask them to drop everything and aid him again and again. Not when they had so much on their own plates to handle. No, he got by fine looking after himself, just as he had since he was a boy. And when he had his own nightmares, Sami did not scream.

After a while, the crying petered out to several moments of silence, before Charlie sucked in a great shuddering breath and pulled back some, half-turning away. He sat up straighter with a sniffle and wiped his face on his sleeve, mumbling, “Sorry. Cried all over your bloody shirt...”

“No worries.” Sami averted his eyes, allowing Charlie his privacy. Perhaps he was not needed anymore. Surely the anger and embarrassment would come soon as it always had before, when Charlie realized how he had exposed himself. Sami sighed. He should go before it had a chance to happen. With a great squealing of bedsprings he stood, turning towards his own bed-

A hand latched on to one of his own, stopped him short. His heart leapt to his throat.

“Stay. Please,” Charlie croaked, a plaintive quiet desperation in his voice. “Don’t go.”

Sami swallowed, willing his racing heart to calm itself and his voice to remain level and steady as he said, very gently without looking back, “Alright.”

Carefully, as if afraid he might break the strange spell behind Charlie’s actions if he moved too suddenly, Sami turned and allowed himself to be led by the hand back to the edge of that bed under the window, then pulled to lie down on his back by Charlie’s side. The entire time, Charlie avoided meeting his eyes, but did not let go.

“I- I’m sorry,” he told Sami haltingly, awkward and a little hoarse, once they had settled in next to each other on top of the blankets. “I just- I didn’t wanna be alone-”

“It is alright.” Sami squeezed his hand, and forced himself not to read too much into this — Charlie was just seeking the comfort of a friend. “You have nothing to be sorry for,  _matraba_ . Nothing at all.” He felt the stiff tension in the body beside him relax, Charlie’s relief palpable.

They lay on their backs, both staring silently up at the dingy ceiling in the dim light. Feeling a little awkward now that there had been time to think about it and consider their actions, neither of them moved to embrace the other again — but they were still pressed together side-by-side to fit into the tiny bed, hands remaining intertwined between them.

It must have been enough, because after a matter of minutes Charlie’s breathing slowed as he slipped into an exhausted sleep, and Sami found himself following easily soon after.

* * *

Sami woke once again, this time more slowly, to the warmth of sunlight on his face, the clamour of morning on the street outside, and the sound of soft snoring from somewhere nearby. As he gradually withdrew from sleep and became aware of his body, he also became aware of a solid warmth pressed along one side of it, and a weight, though not an uncomfortable one, upon his chest.

That was... strange. Not an entirely unfamiliar set of sensations, sure, but his groggy memories of a Parisian bar the night before didn’t include bringing anyone home to bed... He opened his eyes, blinking against the sunlight- and then froze.

Evidently, Charlie’s subconscious was not as easily satisfied with simple hand holding for physical comfort as his conscious self had been, or else he’d gotten cold without the blankets. Sometime in the night he had rolled over onto his stomach, pinning their entwined hands beneath one edge of his body and draping himself along Sami’s side — his head was now pillowed high on Sami’s chest over his heart, the other gangly arm thrown haphazard across Sami’s torso to cling on and anchor him firmly in place. Though sometimes prickly while awake, Charlie seemed to be downright clingy as a sleeper.

That said, Sami clearly couldn’t absolve himself of at least some culpability for the situation: his free hand was splayed almost possessively across one sharp shoulder blade, fingers slightly entangled in the loose threadbare fabric of Charlie’s undershirt.

Now, like any good former spy, Sameer kept his cool, and took a moment to carefully consider his options in this tricky situation.

On one hand — literally — his trapped arm was definitely numb and asleep under Charlie’s weight, almost so much so that he worried about it. He certainly couldn’t stay like this too much longer, as he would eventually need to use the toilet and could already feel his stomach starting to burn with hunger. Not to mention god only knew what Charlie would say when he woke up and found them like this...

But on the other hand, Charlie seemed so peaceful sleeping there, snoring softly against Sami’s side. His messy tuft of orange hair stuck off in every direction, and many of the frown and worry lines had been eased from his face by sleep — all of this leaving him looking younger than his years and startlingly vulnerable, though in a completely different way than he had been the night before.

Wouldn’t it be almost cruel, to wake him when he was finally properly resting? Without the crutch of drinking, Charlie’s soundly sleeping moments were hard won nowadays. Should one of them really be interrupted?

And — though this was of course of lesser importance — if he were to be honest for once, Sameer himself was more calm and content in this moment than he had been in quite some time, albeit also a little guilty for selfishly lingering this way. But could anyone really blame him? There was nothing to rush off and do, nothing to worry about. No danger. No lies to tell. Just peacetime, a sunny Parisian morning, and Charlie safe by his side. In his  _arms_ , no less. This kind of intimate closeness, initiated without peril or emotional distress, was something he had only ever dreamed about. Something hoped for quietly in his most secret, impossible, foolish wishes — did it really have to end so very soon?

In the end, the decision wasn’t Sami’s to make after all.

With a little mumbled half-stirring sound, Charlie’s leg twitched suddenly in his sleep- thus driving his bony knee up rather sharply against a  very sensitive part of Sami’s anatomy.

Sami yelped out an extremely undignified squawk at the brief jolt of pain and flinched back hard, smacking the back of his head much harder off the headboard and startling Charlie awake.

“Ow!” Sameer hissed, sitting up and rubbing at the back of his head as it throbbed and resisting the instinct to protectively cradle other endangered body parts. “ _Merde_ , are you trying to kill me??”

Charlie pushed up to squint at him, blinking hard in the sunlight and confusion. His eyes widened when he realized Sami was in pain. “Oh shit! Good lord, I’m so sorry! Always been a bit of a twitchy sleeper, Jesus Christ...” His accent was a bit more pronounced than usual in the wake of sleep, words gone fuzzy around the edges. Brows knit with concern, he reached out for Sami’s head with the clear intent of inspecting the damage. “Ach, your head- are y’ alright? Lemme see that...”

His hands were gently caught and moved aside before they could make contact — Sami would not indulge himself further by allowing Charlie to fret over some little bump and run gentle fingers through his hair. He might be a hedonist but even he had more self-control than that. “I am fine, I am fine! I think the only thing truly bruised was my pride.” Sami chuckled, only wincing a little as he rubbed his own fingers on one hand cautiously over the abused bit of scalp.

It was then that he glanced up and noticed how very close they still were — Charlie kneeling over him and leaning into his space, their knees and legs all tangled together with the sheets on the lower half of the bed. Between them, Sameer was still holding on to one of Charlie’s wrists from when he had moved his hands aside — it was thin and bony like every other bit of the angular too-skinny Scotsman, his pulse thrumming quick and steady under Sami’s thumb.

The morning light behind Charlie caught a faint dusting of reddish stubble across his cheeks and jaw — his hair set aflame by the sun was still exceedingly sleep-mussed, dark blue eyes wide as they darted over Sami’s face. Sameer knew he himself must look just as messy as Charlie did, no chance so far to tame down his curls or tidy up his facial hair in the immediate wake of sleep. They were both certainly quite a sight.

Sameer knew he should let go and distance them now, that he was millimetres away from doing something impulsive and crossing a very big line — but his selfish side was telling him to stay, to relish this while he could. To hope for the impossible.

But Charlie must have clued in to their closeness, then, figured out how they must have slept — he abruptly flushed crimson and dropped his gaze at the same time he hastily disengaged from Sami’s grip, scrambling backwards almost to the far end of the bed. There, he worked to disentangle himself from the sheets and then began poking around on the floor beneath the bed for his boots, muttering something under his breath about needing to use the lavatory.

Sami blew out a sigh, glad Charlie was likely too busy to notice the guilty, flustered blush that now crept across his cheeks at realizing he had let things go that far. What a fool he was, never learning his lesson. Somehow, he had got Charlie to follow him to Paris, to spend this little trip together as friends while Sami searched for new lodgings and to put off their postwar goodbye a small while longer before Charlie returned to Scotland. That should be enough, he ought to be happy with that — he should have learned by now to stop wanting more.

“Thank you.” His contemplation was broken at the sound of Charlie’s quiet voice. When he glanced up, Charlie had stopped fussing with his boots and was gazing steadfastly out the window as he sat on the edge of the bed, hands fidgeting in his lap. “For last night, I mean. Nobody... nobody’s ever done somethin’ like that, for me. Not for this.”

“I would do it again any time, my friend. Truly, any time.” Sami hoped the deep sincerity of his words was properly conveyed, that it didn’t sound superficial. Based on the way Charlie nodded, slow and solemn and grateful, he felt like it had worked, so he added with a lighter tone and a theatrically flourished half-bow where he sat, “I am at your most humblest service,  _monsieur_ .”

Charlie scoffed and rolled his eyes, lips fighting the twitch of a smile. He pushed to his feet with a groan and stretched his arms above his head with an even louder one. “Yeah, well you can start your “service” by gettin’ your arse outta bed! Christ knows we’ve got another bloody long day ahead of us with the itinerary you’ve got laid out. Better get started first thing.”

“Yessir!” Sami chirped, pairing an elaborate-but-snappy salute with a mockingly serious cowtowing expression and sitting up ramrod straight. “Rightawaysir! Aye aye!”

Charlie snorted and rolled his eyes again, spinning on his feet and heading for the bathroom door — when it swung shut behind him, Sami let out a quiet groan and buried his head in his hands.

* * *

Later, in the window booth of a nearby cafe, they breakfasted on tea and coffee and an array of little French pastries that Charlie quizzed Sami for the names of and failed miserably to pronounce. Between bites they joked and bickered and bantered, and plotted the course of a day full of sightseeing for Charlie’s benefit mixed in with job and apartment hunting for Sameer’s.

Across the table, Sami was laughing at Charlie’s latest botched French pronunciation with a bright handsome smile, the lightness of peacetime sparkling in those warm brown eyes and crinkling tiny lines at their corners as he teased. Watching Sameer shine, Charlie smiled back perhaps too softly, his own pride forgotten entirely under the force of that brilliant, heart-stealing grin. He caught his thoughts turning wistful, wandering back towards this morning in his bed... and silently reprimanded himself to be grateful for the precious moments he was given, and not to waste them longing for forevers he could never be lucky enough to have.

The longing lingered, regardless. It had kept a corner of his heart for nearly half a decade, now — he knew that no matter how far he might run from that feeling when this trip was over, he would never quite leave it behind.

**Author's Note:**

> Most of the endearments Sami uses here are just ways across various languages of saying "friend" or "my friend" - except of course, _matraba_ (مطربة), which is Arabic for "songbird". Not that Charlie knows that. And Sami would rather eat sand than admit it yet. Idiots. Fic title from [the very very fitting (and feelsy) Adele song of the same name](https://genius.com/Adele-remedy-lyrics).
> 
> Two years ago, in the wee hours of Nov 12 2017, I finished watching Wonder Woman for the second time, and promptly dove headfirst down a shipping hole from which I have not emerged since. At 12:31am on that particular Nov 12, I started writing the headcanon which would eventually become this fic, which was the first bit of SamiCharlie fanfic I (or possibly anybody) ever started. Though the blurb which would eventually expand into what you see below was finished in less than three days, it expanded rapidly into the behemoth "Want Need Deserve" megafic (or The Big Fic), which is still a WIP of which this part is more or less a good chunk of the third chapter. The structure/events remain largely unchanged over 2 years. However, since this can technically stand alone and it is a quintessential set of themes for this ship, not to mention The OG Fic, it felt fitting to polish release it for the second annual occasion of what I like to call SamiCharlie Day. Thank you for reading!
> 
> This fic is dedicated to The Canoe, aka Elri and Kaye. Being part of our own little fic-writing trio of Oddfellows these past two years has been my favourite hobby and I love you both to death, even when you're telling puns or crushing my emotions with feels <3
> 
> Tiny-but-devoted audience, I'm so sorry y'll will have to wait until I someday finish The Big Fic to find out how this one gets resolved!! But at least you'll get to relive this chapter of oblivious pining foolishness again when it does! :D And I'm sure I'll put out at least half a dozen shorter fics in the meantime lol.
> 
> Comments fuel my soul (and my writing), kudos make my day, if you want the occasional niche tumblr post about this ship and a whole bunch of yelling about other stuff, follow me on tumblr [@oopsabird](https://oopsabird.tumblr.com/). Send me asks about this ship if you wanna see me never shut up!!


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